The Passing Bell Tolls for Thee

19 Message From the Past

April stirred out of a deep sleep, a dream of a bell ringing, and someone or something approaching at the tolling of the bell. Groggy, she lifted her head to see Smokey's dim shape barking at the connecting door to the guest bedroom that connected to her room. She sat up, yawning. The clock said 4:15 AM.

Five hours sleep, she thought. Sunup not for a while. "Smokey, boy, what it is? Whatever you saw on your walk? Footsteps?" The master bedroom was quiet. She didn't hear anything in the hall. Crawling out of bed, she went to the door, and patted the dog. Smokey whined once and was quiet. In the silence, she heard creaking. She thought about opening the door connecting the bedrooms, but she'd put the key away, and decided against it.

She left her room, Smokey trotting at her heels, and entered the guest bedroom from the hall. She shivered, for the room was very cold. She checked the vent, but warm air was coming out and dissipating almost immediately. The windows were shut, and she could feel no draft. Remember to get the heat checked for this room, she told herself, or Mom will have to share your room.

Four of the five bedrooms on this floor were furnished; the fifth was used for storage. The top floor had the old nursery, and small bedrooms, and rooms from the days when Oakton had live-in servants. Now most of them were used for storage for the wealth of items Drew Ramsey hoarded. He, like his ancestors, tried to keep everything. The door to the storage room was open.

"That was closed last night, Smokes," she said. The hall was cold, too, and she wanted to be back in her warm bed, under the covers, with Smokey curled next to her.

She went to storage room and turned the light on. This room was freezing, and her teeth chattered. She rubbed her arms to warm them, then stuck her hands in her pajama sleeves. Nothing was disturbed in this room; the heat was off to save on electricity. She reached for the switch and saw a book lying open on the floor.

The book, about the size of a composition notebook, was old, and had Vere Drew Ramsey's name written on the front. She leafed through it. It was Vere Drew's boyhood diary. The first page was dated 1964, and Vere wrote about life at L'ecole Nord, the small boys' school he'd attended outside of Paris. She read the first entry.

"I loathe it here. I don't know why Papa sent me to this hole, when I could have gone to Chippenham Boys with my friends. When I am master at Oakton, I'll do as I please. Always." It sounded like Sir Drew. 

The diary entry continued with Vere's complaints about the dreary school, the bad food, and the limited opportunities to leave the campus and explore all the opportunities Paris offered to a rich, young, virile, adolescent.

She took the diary with her and returned to her room. As she was opening the door, she heard a crash from the kitchen. After a minute with no more noise, she padded down the cold stairs and across the house to the kitchen, Smokey at her heels. She supposed Nala had knocked something off the counter again.

She flicked on the kitchen light and saw seven wine bottles smashed on the floor, glass everywhere and puddles of wine. She grabbed Smokey's collar before he could walk on the glass or try to drink from the wine puddles. The kitchen reeked of wine. She shut the dog in the mudroom, put on Wellingtons, and cleaned up the spill.

The last of the broken glass went in the trash. A label on the top caught her eye and she picked up the fragment. The label read 'Arturo Wineries Rosso.' "No, oh, no," she said. Geoff had given her this wine when he and Cress came to dinner, telling her to open the bottle on an important occasion. She learned later this wine sold for £200. She put the bottle in the bottle in the trash.

The wine cabinet door had opened somehow, and she couldn't figure out how the bottles smashed. She shut the door, but it hit against the lock. The door was open but locked. This puzzled her. She, Ben, and Mrs. Bigwood had keys to this wine cabinet. How had the bottles been removed and smashed, since they were laid in racks?

April swung the cabinet door out. The shaft was in the locked position. She twiddled the knob. The lock didn't move. There was no damage to the lock. A mystery. How did the cabinet open while staying locked? Maybe Ben or Mrs. Bigwood left it open, but that's not like them, she thought.

The clock read 5:01. A winter morning's sunrise was a couple of hours away. She wanted to get back in bed and sleep. Bill was expecting her and Smokey at seven for more sheep dog training. She groaned.

She tied the bag and carried it, reeking of wine, outside to the bin. She left the door open for a few minutes to let the heavy smell of liquor dissipate.

April shivered as the cold December air filled the kitchen, but the smell lessened, and she shut the door. She returned to her room, Smokey at her heels. She locked the door again, wondering about ghosts. Smokey hopped on the bed, curling up beside her. She stroked his back till she felt calmer. Things were quiet. Sliding under the covers, she repeated her mantra, I don't believe in ghosts, but fell asleep when her head hit the pillow.

The alarm woke her at six.